


smoke on the water

by Hihoneyimdead



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Between Episodes, Fire, Implied Relationships, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 12:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hihoneyimdead/pseuds/Hihoneyimdead
Summary: “You alright?” asks Caduceus, turning around, disturbing the grass. It’s fine.“Ja,” he nods. He does not feel alright. Half of his face is on fire. His hand burns with the strength of a thousand needles taking turns pulling his blood out. The hand on his shoulder is leaving a black mark, invisible to all but himself. He can see it peeking out from under his shirt, crumbling crimson on the edge.





	smoke on the water

He can feel a hand on his shoulder as he extends his hand, eyes glazing over, a familiar tingling, burning sensation pouring down his arm and out towards the docks. A quiet hum as the bolt streaks past a blurry green figure. He doesn’t blink when the ball lights up the world, because he’s used to it. He knows it, and he knows those fingernails digging into his coat, shirt, skin, drawing blood the color of the agonizing screams faintly reaching his ears. 

He doesn’t resist when he’s grabbed. He hardly notices it, focused on the faces in the smoke looking at him with disappointed expressions. 

-

She was always taller than him, but he never minded. He was still older. She just had more bones, or something like that, anyway. 

He leans against her shoulder, fingers idly swirling the orbs of light around and around and around. His other hand is under hers, not quite held, but not quite loose. He glances up at her with a smile. They’re supposed to be studying. But he’s always been a bit of a rebel, and she forgot her books in her room. 

She looks down and meets his eyes, smile not quite yet teasing her beautiful lips. 

She kisses him anyway. 

-

He sits upon his crate and stares blankly at the ground, counting the blades of grass crammed between the stones at his feet. He’s up to forty-eight. Forty-nine. Forty-nein. He snorts and ignores the guard not-so-subtly elbowing him. Fifty. 

“You alright?” asks Caduceus, turning around, disturbing the grass. It’s fine. 

“ _Ja_ ,” he nods. He does not feel alright. Half of his face is on fire. His hand burns with the strength of a thousand needles taking turns pulling his blood out. The hand on his shoulder is leaving a black mark, invisible to all but himself. He can see it peeking out from under his shirt, crumbling crimson on the edge. He lost count of his grass, and he cannot remember it now because the way that Caduceus is looking at him feels like it did when he--

Caduceus nods and turns away. Fifty-one.

-

She pulls him back, but he hardly feels it. The embers kiss his face, the smoke is snaking towards him with its fangs bared, and he cannot put it out. It’s too late. 

He drops to his knees, and she mutters something before leaving, footsteps crunching in the dead autumn leaves. 

-

Nott falls asleep against his shoulder that night, Frumpkin curled up next to his head. They have their own cabin now. Four hammocks, five other rooms, and she still chooses him. His coat lays across the two of them, singed at the bottom, dyed black and gray. The smell of smoke still fills his lungs, the taste still on his tongue. But it’s fine. Nott smells of too-ripe fruit and blood. Much preferable. 

He stares up at the ceiling, tracing the lines in the wood. He sees a snake. A cloud. A tree. The letter _A_. He wants to close his eyes, but he cannot. Not tonight. Not tonight when there are still smudges on the deck only feet above him, tattered sails flapping uselessly in the dead wind. He blinks and sees the flames rise. Blinks, and smoke. Blinks, and her blue, blue eyes. Blue as the ocean outside. 

Nott shifts, and he has to catch her awkwardly with one arm to keep her from rolling off. He wrenches his shoulder, but it’s fine. Jester can check it in the morning. Or she might not, if he doesn’t tell her, she won’t know. Maybe he deserves this. The hand is gone for now, but the burning remains. 

He carefully and slowly pulls Nott back up and moves her to the other side of his chest, leaving an arm around her. Frumpkin licks his ear, and he sighs. The hammock sways back and forth gently as the waves rock the ship. 

He closes his eyes and allows the distant sound of Orly’s pipes from the depths of the ship to wash the burn away.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: Woozlebucket
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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